


Pretty Little Angel Eyes

by VastDelusion



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1960s, Alternate Universe - Greasers, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Coming of Age, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Greasers, Loss of Parent(s), Loss of Virginity, M/M, Neck Kissing, Period-Typical Homophobia, Secret Relationship, Showers, Slurs, Socs, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:28:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24973093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VastDelusion/pseuds/VastDelusion
Summary: Greaser/Soc AUPercy Jackson is a Greaser: a kid that grew up on the wrong side of town, with the wrong parents and the wrong friends. There's nothing he hates more than the Socs, the kids who grew up on the right side of town with their rich parents and fancy clothes who seemingly have never faced consequences in their lives. However, this classist divide is the least of his problems.With his parents dead and the terrifying idea of staying in that small town forever looming over him, he sets a strict set of rules on himself that, naturally, his friends try to break.Eventually, he meets a Soc boy, Nico di Angelo, who he notices has no luck with girls, and he graciously offers him help. After spending time with Nico, Percy learns that the two aren't so different, despite living starkly different lives. However, he soon discovers that Nico is harboring a great secret--one that challenges both of their perceptions of the world.Together, through the highly-instilled values of their society and the roles in said society that they can never truly escape, they face a greater challenge than any they had before: falling in love.
Relationships: Nico di Angelo/Percy Jackson
Comments: 18
Kudos: 81





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to try and update this every Sunday! There might be some delays because I'm a busy kid, but I'll try to stick to it as best as I can.

I used to be a good kid, I like to think. I did most of my schoolwork, I got decent grades, and I was on the football team in high school. I got drunk sometimes and broke a few girls' hearts, sure, but I always followed through with what was expected of me. It was simpler, then. I always found motivation and a way to express my anger back then. I didn't have to worry about anything else but the rival gangs and Socs jumping me, or my old man coming home drunk. I was almost always sporting bruises or a cut lip like they were accessories, but things were going better for me then. It was before I realized that the entire world was weighing against me, grinding me into the pavement like a cigarette butt, and before I realized how screwed I really was. 

I lived with my folks in a small apartment in a shoddy neighborhood on the East Side. Then, I didn't think it was too bad. Everyone knew each other, for better or worse. I grew up with the boys next door, playing games and pretending we were the rich kids on the West Side, with their fancy cars and big houses that looked like the ones on the covers of Mom's magazines. Every once in a while, the older kids with leather jackets and greasy hair passed by in their shabby cars and got into rumbles in the back lot. The gangs didn't bother us as long as we didn't bother them; they were the least of our worries. 

I didn't know then. I didn't know that there was a sort of hierarchy in society, and I was sitting almost at the very bottom. It was the rich people on the West Side that we needed to worry about. Whenever something bad happened, whether it be a guy that got arrested or a parent was hauled off to prison, they always had a hand in it. They were always pulling the strings behind the curtain. 

The Socs—that's what they're called, the kids with the fancy hair and expensive clothes—were not as clean as the newspaper made them out to be. They were just like us, but they were rich. They could kill a baby, and they would only get a firm talking-to. A slap on the wrist. I beat up a guy in the parking lot for knocking the wing mirror from my truck, and I have to spend the night in the cooler. The double standard didn't end there. It wasn't even close. 

They'd get drunk, hop in their cars, and stalk the streets where they knew we hang around. Then, they'd hunt down a couple of Greasers coming home from Cal's Bowling Alley and beat them senseless. They always hunt in packs, picking off the guys they know they can easily overpower. A week later, there's an editorial in the newspaper about how they are important members of the community, and they're suddenly saints. 

The girls aren't so bad, though. Girls are into the bad boy archetype, no matter how poor you are, or how rich they are. They're fun to mess around with, but I never lasted more than a week with any of them. It's trivial, I suppose, but it's the truth of the world: Socs and Greasers don't get along, and they never will. 

I could fight Socs all day. I guess it makes me masochistic, but the fire flows in my veins when I get into rumbles. The blurs of fists flying, the taste of old leather and coppery blood, how you don't feel the pain until later because you're so into beating the shit out of the person in front of you. I love the feeling of victory I get when I win, the adrenaline coursing through my body. My buddies make fun of me for it, but I love it. I love it more than flirting with the pretty girls at the theater, or backseat bingo. 

I haven't gotten into one for a while. I've begun to miss the sensation of it, but I can't worry about that anymore. I promised myself I would only get into a rumble if they hurt one of my friends. 

I stopped the rumbles the day my folks died. I dropped out of high school, and I had to get a job and give up all the stuff I used to do, like shooting pool at Ricky's or bowling at Cal's. I don't remember the last time I've seen a movie. I was probably getting to second base with some girl or sitting with Jason and Leo in the front seat, stealing a couple of kernels from Jason's popcorn because I was too broke to get any. I want to go back, but if I do, I'll lose the tight restraints I put on myself. I already caved for cigarettes, and I almost caved for Tracy Delaport at a party Leo dragged me to. 

Leo's been helpful, having me work at his dad's garage. He makes fun of me for not allowing myself to do fun things, but I don't care. Jason's been helpful, too, with helping me pay off my dad's debt. I guess most of them have been helpful, Ethan and Charlie and Dakota. 

They kind of tiptoe around me in their own way, which I don't like. My folks got shot up in a driveby. They act like it happened right in front of me. At least they don't get all touchy-feely about it, like the girls at school did. They let me go around it in my own way. They don't tell me to talk about it, but I can still tell they feel bad about it. 

Jason lost his mom to the bottle, Leo's mom to a fire, Ethan's parents to prison, Dakota's parents to some state down south, and Charlie's mom to a car accident, but I guess it could be worse. Luke doesn't even remember his parents. His mom went crazy when his dad walked out on them. Now, she's in the madhouse. We're all pretty fucked up, but I guess the most comforting thing about it is that we've all lost someone. 

The only one who doesn't really show me any pity is Luke, but he's pretty quiet. He doesn't say anything that he doesn't need to. I kind of like that about him. Luke is kind of like an older brother to me, but I don't think he feels the same way. He's seven years older than me, so I'm probably the annoying kid that hung around him. I guess I still do that, but he doesn't seem to mind anymore. He has a James Dean air around him, with his blond hair slicked back, his cold blue eyes, and the scar that crosses his right eye. He never told me how he got it. I never had the balls to ask, either.

I wish I could be intimidating the way Luke is. I've heard tons of stories about him, about the time he scared the cops away just by looking at them, or the time he held off five Socs with blades with just his bare hands. Leo says one even had a heater. I wouldn't be surprised; Luke is good at fighting. He doesn't like to fight, though. Not like I do. 

He's not hot headed like the rest of us; maybe that's why he's so good at rumbles. He's cool and aloof, but he still hangs around. Maybe it's because he has nowhere else to go, but, then again, none of us do. We're stuck here on the East Side, with only hair grease and our constant struggle for power to compensate for what we don't have: money and people that care about us. 

It's been like this for years, and I don't know a single person who managed to get out of this place. Maybe that person will be me. Maybe I'll just be stuck here like everyone else, still working in Leo's dad's garage and living in my rundown apartment when I'm in my thirties. It seems like that is all of what life has to offer me, but I'm not complaining. Life doesn't offer much to Greasers. It never has. 


	2. Chapter 2

As I swing open my truck door, the night breeze greets me, prickling my skin with cold. My tattered shoe finds the pavement, and I eye the house that we heard about from Dakota—he said they threw parties that hardly ever ended in rumbles and the cops showing up, and they kept the good booze in the liquor cabinet. The house is much larger than the ones in my neighborhood; it's a two-story place, with a wrap-around porch and a two-car garage. It seems like a Soc place. I feel like I'm intruding. I probably am. 

Although I parked a few blocks away to prevent a Soc from tearing up my truck, I can hear the music blaring from here, pounding at the walls of the house and disrupting what would otherwise be a peaceful night. It seems like a respectable neighborhood—I've lived in this town all my life, and I've never been to this part before. It sits in between the turfs, so it's fair game for both Greasers and Socs. I'm surprised that no one has called the cops yet. Then again, it's like what Dakota said—cops don't really care about parties unless they end in a rumble or a few broken windows. If they cracked down on all the parties, they'd be out all night, and it gets tedious after a while. It's easier to just let us do our thing. 

I shut the door behind me, and I pull my jacket over my shoulders in a futile attempt to gain back the warmth I lost. Jason and Leo hop out the back of my truck and join me on the sidewalk. 

The truck was my dad's: a beat-up, light blue '51 Chevy. Dad never would let me touch it, let alone drive it, but he's not exactly around anymore, so I guess it's mine. It's all I got left of my old life. It runs good and is decent on gas mileage, but it feels real nice with the wheel and the gearshift in my hands. It feels like it was made just for me. 

They catch up with me as I approach the house. I light a cigarette and anchor my chilled hands in my jeans pockets. 

Jason and Leo think nothing of it as they walk right up the walkway to the house. I hang uneasily back. I didn't want to go to this party, anyway. I wanted to work late, earn some extra money. 

"You don't get out enough," they told me. "You work too much." 

If things were different, I bet I still would be going to these parties without batting an eye. One slip up, and I'll fall under, even with everyone's help. To think that when we were younger, we surfed on the roofs of our cars, or smashed mailboxes with baseball bats in Soc neighborhoods. We never worried about getting in trouble with the cops. Now, it seems like a distant dream. 

John Lennon's voice tears through the air as the door opens for us. My keys weigh down my pocket like a heavy stone, almost calling me back to the truck, but I follow my friends through the door. The house is incredibly crowded, almost as if the room I'm standing in is made of elbows. The distinct smells of beer and cigarettes fills every corner of the room, and I feel that this wasn't a good idea. We wade through the crowd, anyway, to find something to drink. 

It usually doesn't take me long to get used to the scene, for the mood of the party to seep into my skin and my self-administered restrictions to loosen. I hold out for a little while, though. I pride myself in my resolve, but tonight, it's frail. It's cracked, and in no time, it's going to be shattered. 

I pop off the cap from the beer bottle against the counter with ease and immediately lift it to my lips. It's been too long, I know, as the beer's bitterness lingers on my tongue and stings my throat lightly. It's the cheap stuff, basic lager booze. It will taste better after a while. 

After a few bottles, I begin to feel the music, the energy of the room around me, and I don't remember the last time I felt so carefree. I allowed the party to seep into my veins, and I chased after the feeling. 

I leaned against the counter, talking to Leo about cars and about things we could never have, like we could attain them by pure grit, when I catch the eye of a girl who glances over at me every now and then. A slight smile appears on her lips. It's an invitation; I've been with enough girls to know when they're interested. 

She's a Soc; real pretty, with her dark waves cascading down her shoulders. A belt accentuates her thin waist. Decent-sized tits. Dark eyes, light skin. Cherry red lips. 

I leave Leo at the counter and approach her. 

It's been way too long. 

She looks demurely at her lap once she sees me. I lean against the wall beside her. 

"Waiting on someone?" I ask her, and she smiles. 

"I was," she responds. "Not anymore." 

I cast her a smirk and take a drag of my cigarette. 

"What's your name?" 

"Denise." 

"Well, Denise," I address her with a playful tone, "what kind of guy leaves a girl like you all by herself?" 

She smiles—one of those pretty, slow smiles that shows a glimpse of her straight, white teeth beneath her bright red lips—and looks up at me. She opens her mouth to speak, but she's interrupted. 

"Hey, what are you doing?" a new voice chimes in. "Lay off, man!"

My eyes dart up to see a Soc, his dark hair slightly slicked back in a futile attempt to be tamed. He's carrying two Bubble Ups in his hands. He doesn't look as angry as I would be if someone else was flirting with my girl. He doesn't look angry at all—maybe just a little miffed. I raise my eyebrow skeptically, but I still accept his challenge. 

"Why? This your girl?" 

He nods. He looks unsure how to handle me. "Yeah. I'd appreciate it if you kept your hands off her." 

"I didn't touch her. It's your own fault, anyway, leaving her by herself to wait for your slow ass to crawl back over here. She looked like fair game to me." 

He looks like he wants to shove at me, start a fight, but he doesn't. Instead, he glowers at me and calls Denise away defeatedly, giving her one of the Bubble Ups he held. 

Later, I see Denise leave with another guy, and the Soc boy was left on the porch with a cigarette and bruised pride. I feel a little bad for picking on his insecurities like that, but no woman wanted a man that couldn't stand up for himself, let alone for their lovers. She was going to break up with him, anyway. I could see the uncertainty in her eyes. 

I leave the party, too, after everyone was too drunk to stand. I didn't even feel buzzed. I only had a few, anyway. Jason and Leo follow me, but I don't contribute to their drunken conversations. I drive Leo home, letting him off at the driveway. He says something to me, and I pretend I heard him. 

Jason was barely awake by the time we got to his apartment. I help him inside and leave him to his business. I decide I don't want to go home, so I crash on his couch. He doesn't mind when I stay over unannounced. I guess it's his way of showing sympathy. 

I fall asleep more quickly than I do at home, but the dreams are the same. They are always the same. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't drink and drive, kids!!


	3. Chapter 3

When things seem they can't possibly get any worse, I've learned the hard way they always do. Maybe it's because I'm poor, or that my truck is shoddy, and I was negligent enough to not notice the squeal of the failing transmission. Anyway, I'm fixing my now-out-of-commission truck, out of my own time and money that I could've used somewhere else, anywhere else. Maybe it's karma for drinking at the party, or hitting on other guys' girlfriends. Either way, it was bad enough to land me here. It's almost midnight--I've been working on this piece of shit all day--my hands hurt, I'm covered in grease, and I just want to go home. 

By looking outside, the thought of just sleeping in the garage crosses my mind. It's perfect Soc hunting grounds. Just a Greaser guy walking home at midnight, with nothing to defend himself with but his fists. Yeah, the chances of me not getting jumped are slim. 

I borrow a tire iron--I'll bring it back tomorrow--and try to walk home as inconspicuously as possible. 

It's a dark, quiet night. I can hear the cicadas and my footsteps on the concrete, but not much else. My mind's playing tricks on me--every stray sound is a Soc hiding behind a trash can or in the shadows of an alleyway, waiting to jump me. 

I've only made it a few blocks when, in my peripheral vision, I see it. It's a bright red '59 Thunderbird, its bright headlights slicing through the darkness. 

I should've known that by walking home by myself while wearing my work clothes was just like holding up a huge sign that said, "I'm an alone and vulnerable Greaser. Please jump me."

I sigh and book it down the street, the car following me. It's a large, stray cat, and I'm the terrified mouse scurrying for its life. Why couldn't I have gone home at a decent time? My poor decisions are weighing down on me, just like they did before. 

I glance up to see some familiar buildings. I'm in Jason's neighborhood. I can see his house just up the street. If I run fast enough, I could make it there in time. 

As I reach the curb, three other cars pull up, and I don't need to see the brand new paint jobs and pretentious models to know that they're all Socs. 

I curse under my breath, sanctuary only about thirty feet away. I'm surrounded. 

I back up against the cold brick wall, the rough texture scratching my back through my clothes--I count eight of them, but I can't make out their features due to the blinding headlights--and pull out my tire iron. I'm more than grateful that I decided to take it with me, now that I see what I'm up against. I still have a slim chance, more than if I was unarmed, but eight to one is a pretty dismal ratio. 

"Don't you know better than to run away, Greaser?" one of them asks me, saying Greaser as if it was a slur. To them, it probably was. 

I silently beg for Jason to wake up from the lights and call Leo, Luke, and Dakota to help me. Five to eight has much better chances. I keep glancing up at Jason's bedroom window, but it remains dark and undisturbed. 

"Cat got your tongue, Greaser?" taunted the one that got out of the Thunderbird. "We asked you if you knew better than to run away." 

I don't speak, either. Speaking, especially with a smart comment, is a death sentence. 

They close in on me. I smell the scent of Jack Daniel's. _Someone_ got into their parents' liquor cabinet. 

I brace myself, swinging my tire iron at anyone that dares to get close enough. They back up a little, but the way they evade my blows is cocky and playful. They're toying with me. I try to restrain my anger and keep myself from jumping into something that I'll regret later, but they keep eating at me. It's only delaying the inevitable.

I hear the door burst open, and Jason sprints towards us. I sigh in relief, but I don't let my guard down. 

The Socs seemed to avert their attention from me to Jason, which gives me enough time to get out of the cornered position. 

I remind myself to only hit them if they hit me or Jason first. It wouldn't sound good to anyone if we were the ones that laid the first blow. Jason seems to be drawing this out, too. If he was being cautious, he would have brought out a baseball bat, or something to that effect. 

He was waiting for something. 

From the corner of my eye, I see the rest of the gang run around the corner. I nearly laugh from happiness, but I don't want to call unnecessary attention to myself. Their smug expressions fade when they see the newest additions to our side. 

There's six of us. There's eight of them. The chances of them beating the shit out of us is not as substantial now. 

One of the Socs decide to go after the biggest one, who happens to be Beckendorf. The Socs land the first blow, so it's good to fight. I drop the tire iron at my side. I don't need it anymore. 

I feel the adrenaline building up in my veins as I feel hands gripping my shoulders. I grin as I pound my fist against his nose. He stumbles back, and I grip him while he's stunned. I kick and knee him in the ribs until he's curled up on the pavement with a bloody nose and no longer a threat. 

Luke's fighting off two at the same time. I pause to admire his efforts, until another one's barrelling at me. 

Rumbles are the best. I've forgotten what they felt like. My body assumes its position on its own, it seems. My feet anchored to the ground, one of my hands protecting my face, the other protecting my chest. I feel my blood pumping in my temple as we struggle against each other, trying to gain the upper hand. He lands a few good blows that I couldn't block--I spit out a wad of blood--but I'm better. I'm stronger. After all, spending almost every day working on cars and moving parts, it builds muscle. 

One pulls a blade, but its not a threat. He's piss drunk. Luke takes care of it in a matter of seconds, and I can hardly hear the clattering of the blade against the concrete over the sound of my heartbeat in my ears. 

After awhile of getting their asses kicked, the Socs retreat to their cars and drive off. 

It feels like a victory. We won, but they'll come back. They always do.

Jason claps me hard on my sore shoulder. "What the hell, man? What were you doing out this late?" 

I gesture behind me with my thumb. "Garage. Fixing my car." 

"Man, you're a special kind of stupid," Leo said. "You better bring that tire iron back tomorrow, or Dad'll tan my hide with it." 

I nod. "Sorry." 

We're in good moods now. I'm grateful that they came, or I'd probably be in the morning papers. 

We went back to our houses to clean up and go to bed, but I couldn't sleep. It's hard to sleep when you just got into an invigorating fist fight just a half hour ago. My blood is still pumping. The adrenaline is still coursing. 

I close my eyes and remind myself that this can't be an often occurrence. I need to stick with my rules, or I'll spiral out of control and end up in jail, or penniless and destitute. My parents aren't around anymore to pick up my slack. 

It's times like these that I miss my mom. Out of everything that I've gotten, my mom was the best. She would give me that look when I came back home like this, with bloodied knuckles and disheveled clothes. She'd mutter quietly while I cleaned up and would scold me passive aggressively during dinner. I hate that I used to find it annoying. Now, I'd give my left nut to have her doting over me like that again. 

She wasn't like the other moms in our neighborhood. She never cheated on Dad, she seldom drank and smoked, she always was supporting me and she'd never been anything to me but a loving mother. 

And I'd never been anything to her but an ungrateful, bratty son who always wanted more than what he had. 

I hate that my last words to her were so indifferent.

They were going to some event in St. Louis for Dad's work, and she asked me to look after the house. Of course, being a senior in high school, I was going to some party with the girl I was seeing at the time the moment the truck left the alleyway. 

"Okay, Mom." "Sure, Mom." "All right, Mom, I get it." 

Then, she was dead. I was at a pep rally when I heard. I didn't understand then that a few words could utterly change your life. 

And, here I am, throwing my life away just as I did before. 

I knew it then, and I sure know it now that I'm never going to get out of this town.


	4. Chapter 4

A month came and went like the blink of an eye. I got my truck fixed (to the degree where it at least starts), and I worked at the garage. It's tedious work, mostly; a tune-up here, an oil change there. Sometimes cars blow gaskets, and we're the only place in the West Side that don't charge an arm and a leg. It's been pretty busy the last couple of weeks, and with summer coming along, it probably is going to get even busier.

I'm kind of hoping so, anyway. That way, I could focus more on work and evade my buddies so I won't be dragged to random parties. 

I promised them one party tonight and that's it. No more. I'm behind on my rent, and going home to an eviction notice on my door is the last thing I want. 

The garage is like a second home, anyway. The only time I really spend at my apartment is sleeping and getting ready for work. The smells of engine grease and scrap metal are normal to me, now. 

The pay's decent--and I learned a lot of helpful skills through Leo's dad. I can fix mostly anything, now. Leo's a lot better than me, but he's somewhat of a prodigy, due to the fact he's been around this stuff his whole life. 

Leo calls to me, and I slide out from the undercarriage of some old Ford Crestline. 

"Come on, Percy," he says. He's already changed out of his work clothes and his curly hair is slightly slicked back. "The party's gonna be over by the time we get there."

I check the clock hanging over the workbench, and I see it's already seven o'clock. I must have lost track of time. I jump up from the cold concrete, clock out, and climb into my truck. I head for home so I can get changed. 

I wash my hands, ridding my skin from all the grease, and grab whatever clean t-shirt is on top of the pile, the pair of jeans closest to me off the floor and snatch my jacket off the chair. I slick my hair back with a liberal amount of hair grease, grab an extra pack of cigarettes, a lighter, and my truck keys, and I'm out the door.

Leo's waiting for me impatiently in the passenger seat, drumming loudly at the dashboard with his fingers. I roll my eyes, climb in alongside him, and pull out of the alleyway.

He gives me directions as I drive, and I find that we're in the same neighborhood as the last party we went to. I don't really have to worry about Socs messing up my truck, but I'm still cautious--it just got fixed up, and I don't want to dump another month's rent worth into it. I can't afford it, anyway. The state's taking out too much of my paycheck to pay for Dad's debt. 

I park a few blocks away and lock the doors, just in case. No one would actually want to steal it, I know, but it's not a bad idea.

This party is not as crowded as the one before, and the music isn't as loud either. I wonder if it was an invite-only party, but Leo just shoves his way in, and I don't want to leave him by himself. I follow him cautiously through strangers and, alike other parties, I get this weird feeling in my stomach and I can't shake it. 

It's nothing that a few drinks can't chase away, I think, as Leo and I approach the keg. 

I try to restrain myself as much as I can. I remind myself of a few of my rules. No girls, no getting shit-faced, no starting fights. 

I scan the room as I drink, looking for people to talk to, or something to do. I don't see much of anything though. Some girls. A couple of jocks. There are a couple of Socs that were looking at me as if they're sizing me up, so I leave the room to avoid any conflict. I'm not a coward. I just don't want to go to jail.

My brain gets a little foggy after my fifth cup, but I don't see the harm in another. 

Leo wandered off a little while ago--he probably was flirting with some girl. I don't really care what he does, but he's the only reason I'm not in my truck down the road right now. I'm bored out of my mind.

The door opens again, and I watch the Soc boy from last time--the one whose girlfriend dumped him because he didn't have the spine to stand up for her--walk in with his new squeeze. She's blonde and decently pretty, but I'll back off. I don't want to drive him up the wall. He never did anything to me. 

He manages to stay with her the majority of the time, which was an improvement, but she doesn't seem all that interested in him. I kind of pity him, mainly because he has no game, but I can see he tried.

In about ten minutes, she disappears, and the boy leaves sullenly through the front door.

The small thing that slightly warded off my boredom is gone, so I go outside to get some fresh air and a break from the music. It was the annoying swinger music that everyone used to listen to back in middle school, and I could endure it, but it was slowly getting on my nerves. I eye my truck down the road, seemingly undisturbed. 

Fortunately, this is my last party, and honestly, nothing is compelling me to come back. The free booze is nice, but not a single girl has tempted me to break the "no girls" rule, and Leo isn't sticking around for me to talk to. I'm getting too old for high school parties. 

I light up a cigarette and take a drag as I notice the Soc boy is sitting on the porch swing, an unlit cigarette in his mouth. He looks down at the wooden floor of the porch, his eyes lost in thought. 

I usually let guys like him sulk, but I need a distraction.

I pull my matches out of my pocket. 

"Hey, need a light?" I ask. 

He looks up at me, raising an eyebrow, but not in a scornful way. He considers it and nods, offering me his cigarette. I light him up, and he takes a long drag before tossing his head back slightly and letting out a wisp of smoke into the chilly night air. 

"Mind if I join you?" I gesture to the empty spot beside him. 

"Sure."

I sit, and the air is silent between us for a while until he speaks up. 

"How do you do it?" His tone is defeated and tired. 

"How do I do what?" I ask.

"You know, have a girl interested in you."

"Last one didn't go so well?"

He shrugs slightly. "No. I just can't keep them."

"Girls are complicated."

He snorts in agreement. "Yeah. Definitely."

He took another drag of his cigarette and flicks the ashes off the tip. 

"How long was your longest relationship?" I ask. 

He looks slightly embarrassed. "About three days."

I smile amusedly, my suspicions confirmed. He really has no game. 

"What about you?" He asks me. "How long was yours?"

"About six months."

He sputters in surprise, my response taking him off guard. "Six months?" 

I relax my shoulders more and flick my cigarette. "Yeah."

He remains silent for a while, contemplating. "I... How?"

"Well, I guess you have to make yourself memorable. Believe it or not, women like to be complimented. Ask them about their day, say she looks pretty in that dress."

The Soc boy has a far-away look in his eyes. "Oh. Ok."

"But, first, it's all in the approach."

"The approach?"

"When your eyes meet from across the room, you approach them casually. Hands-in-pockets kinda thing. Then you lean against something nearby and say, 'Hey.'" I pull my lip into a smirk and tilt my head slightly.

His eyes widen slightly before looking back down at the porch beneath his feet. "Oh." 

"Just like that. It's not too hard."

He mutters something to himself--I think it was to the effect of, "Of course it's not for you."

I peer in through the screen door to see a tentative girl sitting all by herself. She would be easy for him, as shy girls are more susceptible to compliments and attention from attractive boys. 

I point her out to him, and he resignedly reenters the house, making his way to the lonely girl. He talks with her for a minute or two--she seems to be taking in to his attention. Then, he turns and quickly walks out of the room.

"Abort, abort," he speaks quietly when he reaches me.

"What? What happened?"

"I said the party was boring and asked her if she wanted to get out of here. It's her party."

I can't help but laugh. It's pure gold for this boy to have such bad luck with girls. He looks meekishly down at the wooden porch, a slight blush in his cheeks. 

"It's not funny," he said sheepishly, folding his arms across his chest. 

The fact he's pouting over it makes me laugh harder, but I still feel bad.

As I collect myself, I sit beside him.

"Hey, I think we established this party doesn't have much in store for you. Do you wanna go somewhere else?"

He looks over at me in an almost bewilderment, as if I just asked him to make out with me on the porch swing. 

"Where?" 

I answered him with a mischievous smile.


	5. Chapter 5

Cal's Bowling Alley is a common hangout for Greasers--me, Leo, Jason, and the rest of our sort-of gang always used to hang out here before The Incident happened. I half-expect for the Soc boy to refuse altogether, to say there was no way he would be caught dead in a Greaser place. However, he still steps out of his bright red, '57 Chevy Bel-Air--a real beauty. I had to stop myself from admiring it--and into the cool night air. 

"Isn't this a Greaser place?" he asks.

"There isn't anyone else here tonight. See?" I gesture to the empty parking lot around us. "Thursdays are always slow days."

The Soc boy looks hesitant--he knows he would be jumped if any other Greasers were here--but he still follows me into the building. He trusts me enough to believe I'm not leading him into an ambush, I guess. 

I don't remember the last time I've walked through these glass doors with my friends. It seems like a lifetime ago, but the attendee, Lloyd, still acknowledges me by name. I still remember his name. He eyes my company a little suspiciously, but he doesn't comment on him. I glance behind me to see if he hasn't turned tails and left at the sight of this place. 

There's no one here except us and Lloyd, the air silent around us. I suppose we're lucky Dakota and Beckendorf aren't here, because they'd be suspicious for sure. With his striped polo shirt and his fancy jeans, his looks just scream "Soc." I just hope he doesn't feel self-conscious. 

We rent some shoes and pay for a game, collecting a scoresheet before we head over to get a ball. I always pick the same one: a heavy, solid blue one which I'm surprised is still functional after all the times I've used it. He picks a light one that's red and sparkly. I look at him strangely for a second, but I dismissed the thought. 

We make our way over to an empty lane--they aren't hard to find, seeing how vacant this place is--and I set my ball down in the ball return. 

I place the scoresheet on the small table, and I realize that I still don't know his name as I tap the pencil against the table a couple of times.

"Hey, what's your name?" I ask.

"Nico," he replies, testing the weight of the ball in his hands. 

I nod and write it down. I feel him peer over my shoulder as I write my name.

"Percy," he says, testing it on his tongue. 

"Yeah."

"That's kind of a cool name."

"Thanks, I guess."

We start the game; after a while, it becomes pretty obvious that Nico hasn't played in a long time, because I'm kicking his ass something awful. 

Every time it's my turn, his posture looks deflated. I smirk as I make another good play and wait for my ball to return. 

"You're really good at this," Nico says, his expression one of astonishment.

I shrug. "Yeah, I guess I am. When was the last time you bowled?"

"I was five, I think." Nico smiles sheepishly.

"I can tell."

"Hey!" he exclaims, offended. "I'm not that bad." 

"I dunno," I say, teasingly, holding the scoresheet in my hands. "I see quite a few gutter balls here. I can always ask Lloyd if he could put bumpers up for you."

He glares half-heartedly at me. I cast him a playful smile in response and retrieve my ball, which just rolled into the return. 

He watches my next play--which turns out to be a spare--unenthusiastically. I smile smugly at him. He rolls his eyes and pouts slightly. He's kind of a sore loser, but in a childish way. It's not annoying, like Leo when he loses and starts blaming everything else but his crappy bowling. Nico just sits there and admits defeat. 

And, even after I win by a landslide, he offers to pay for another game. 

This game, he's a bit better; the gutter balls almost completely disappear, and he's getting points every turn. I still beat him, but he's less upset about it. He doesn't lose by much. I even got a little threatened around the middle of the game, but I would never tell him that. 

He buys me a soda, and we sit for awhile at the tables. We allow time to slip by as it pleases, not caring how late it is and not sparing a thought to our commitments the next morning. 

We talk about simple things: our jobs and what we like to do in our free time-- which isn't much, for me. He's going to be a senior in high school this upcoming fall--seventeen, going on eighteen--but he's already outgrown the childish mentality of the world around him. He doesn't care for the great divide between classes that split our already small town into two, the classist bullshit and everything else that goes on. He's sick of the minutiae of mundanity. 

Just like me. 

When we finish our sodas and our conversations come to an end, we turn in our shoes, throw the scoresheets into the trash, and walk out into the darkness of the parking lot, which is dimly lit under the golden halos of nearby streetlamps. 

I head back to my beat up Chevy truck and he to his sleek '57 Bel-Air, and I tell him, "Y'know, you're not too bad for a Soc."

He shoots me a playful sneer before responding, "Yeah, you're not too bad for a Greaser, either." 

I smile at that. We both climb into our cars and drive away in our separate directions. 

I go back to the party and find Leo--who happens to be drunk out of his mind. It takes me awhile to get him out of the house, but before long, I help him into the truck, then into his house, where I dump him unceremoniously on his couch. 

When I get home, I pull off my shoes, light a cigarette, and reminisce about the hours that passed with the Soc I had just gotten to know. It gives me hope, I suppose, that the world isn't completely polarized, and that we could all get along eventually. That we aren't so different, after all.


	6. Chapter 6

It's a hot day in July when I see the Soc boy again. 

The Fourth flew past in a blur of people and festivities, and the garage is back to business as usual. Leo managed to get a couple of cold beers, so we sneak around back and sit in the sun, sipping the cold beer and feeling like we're normal kids, enjoying our lives instead of being pent up in a hot garage all hours of the day. 

When we finish our beers, we decide we're starving, and we want lunch.

"Hey, do you want to swing by Martin's to get some lunch? I'm really craving their fries right about now." Leo requests. 

It sounds delicious, but I'm pretty apprehensive of just hopping in my truck and taking a nice Sunday drive nearly into the Socs' turf. I climb into my truck anyway and speed down the way, my stomach begging for sustenance. 

I take a detour when I see the nice cars speeding around in hopes they won't notice me. I park a block away, just in case. Leo's money in my pocket, I stroll through the glass doors and walk up to the counter. 

I haven't been to Martin's since I was young, when Mom took me. It hasn't really changed, except they have a new jukebox that was a bright blue color and was playing some Beatles song.

I order three orders of fries, two burgers, and two colas to go, and I take a seat in one of the bright red barstools, waiting patiently for my food.

"Percy?" I hear a voice say, tentatively. 

I turn on reflex, and I see Nico sitting by himself in a booth. He waves, and I cast him a smile in return. He apparently takes that as an invitation, because he approaches the counter and seats himself in the barstool beside me. 

"Hey," I say. "What are you doing here?" 

"Waiting for my food," he tells me. "Dad and I were working, and he sent me to pick up something. What about you?"

"Same as you. Waiting."

He smiles almost bashfully and tucks a stray strand of dark hair behind his ear. "It's been awhile since I saw you. Do you... Do you wanna hang out, or something?" 

I don't have anything else to do, so I shrug. "Sure. Why not?" 

His smile widens. "Okay. Well, I have to run my food back to Dad, then I'll meet you at the park." 

His order comes, and he pays for it. 

"See you later, Percy." 

As he walks away, I can't help but think he would be really, really cute if he was a girl. I immediately scold myself for thinking that way, but the thought keeps creeping up on me until I receive my food, give the waiter some money plus tip, and stroll out the door.

□■□■□

After we ate behind the garage, I clock out and drive to the park. It sits between neighborhoods, but it's pretty nice. It has a duck pond with cobble stone paths and some fountains, along with the playground, and some trees with benches perched beneath them, basking in the shade. I sit in one, looking around for Nico's beautiful car or the familiar mess of dark hair. 

A couple of birds land at my feet, and I search my pockets for crumbs to feed them. Fortunately, I left a saltine cracker packet in my pants pocket, so I chip off a delicate corner and toss it to the birds. They're quick to peck it up, and it's fun to watch them scramble for the little bits of food. 

"Feeding the birds? I didn't take you for the soft type." 

I look up behind me, and Nico is standing there with a playful smile on his face. The sun bleeds through the gaps between the leaves, spotting Nico's skin and hair with gold.

"Never said I wasn't," was my response, and I curse myself for my incapability of coming up with a more clever quip. 

He seems to accept it, though, as he sits himself beside me and takes a bit of cracker to throw to the birds. More flock over to peck up the crumbs, drawn by the promise of food. 

Nico laughs slightly as the birds surround us, chirping and scuttling around the pavement beneath our feet. 

It's kind of nice to sit like this, with the sun on our shoulders paired with a gentle breeze that keeps away the sweltering heat of the hot July afternoon. 

He seems to think so, as well, as he looks over at me with a smile and slightly kicks his feet. We sit there for awhile, enjoying the weather and each other's company.

"I forgot something at the library," he says, breaking the silence. "Do you want to come with me?"

I have nothing better to do, so I agree. I'm also stoked by the idea that I get to ride in Nico's car. I've only seen '57 Chevys in movies and in passing. If I told Leo or Jason I got to ride in one, or if Nico lets me drive it--unlikely--they would never believe me, no matter how many times I'd insist.

It's body is a bright red with tones of white, and I could spend all day looking at it. However, I don't think Nico is willing to wait that long. We both hop in and he puts the key in the ignition.

The seat is leather--a lot cleaner and smoother than the interior in my truck, and even with the windows down, it's hot against the backs of my thighs. The wing mirrors are both intact, and the car has a nice smell. I admire the car for a minute or two until I look over at Nico. He has a skeptical eyebrow raised. 

"Should I leave you and the car alone for a moment?" 

I give him a sarcastic look, and he laughs. It's a sweet sound, kind of feminine. Honestly, it suits him. I just met the guy, yet I couldn't imagine him any other way than the way he is: feminine, kind, genuine. 

I wish I could surround myself with people like him. Not that there is anything wrong with Leo, Jason, Luke, and the rest, but it's sort of refreshing to be around Nico. It's like my class doesn't matter and that I haven't been royally screwed over more times than I can count.

He starts the car and revs the engine for effect--I'd call him a show-off if I wasn't so in love with the car--before ripping out of the park and down the street. 

It feels more free than my truck, the way Nico's Chevy drives. I love my old piece of shit, but she's nothing compared to this beauty. 

I close my eyes and feel the passing wind against my skin. The low, smooth growl of the car fills me with a feeling I can't describe, but I think it might be close to ecstasy. 

Nico rolls his eyes as he continues, navigating the streets until we pull up to the public library. It's a large building, and if I ever went inside, I can't remember. Staircases lead up to the second level, and I find myself surrounded by multifarious books. I'm tempted to look through a few, but Nico is quick to grab his stuff and leave.

I follow him, reminding myself to come back. It might be a decent way to spend a boring afternoon that Leo's dad doesn't allow me to work.

We hang out at the park for a while, talking about what's going on in our lives, and I feel great. He laughs at my half-assed jokes and smiles at me every now and then. Honestly, I never want to leave this moment, protected from the sun by the shade of an oak tree, sitting in the trimmed, green grass with the birds chirping and dogs running past, with Nico sitting beside me, talking about school and friends. It feels safe here, like nothing malevolent is waiting to leap around the corner and attack me. 

When the sun begins to go down, Nico says he has to go home, and I feel like a child whose parents told him he had to finish up swimming at the waterpark and change. 

"Hey, Nico," I call, and he turns his head.

"Yes?"

"You think I could drive your car sometime?"

He almost scoffs. "My dad would kill me."

"So, is that a yes?" 

He laughs. "Consider it a maybe."

He waves at me as he gets in his car and leaves, and I stare at the direction the car disappeared for longer than I should, a somewhat empty, yet satisfied feeling blooming in my gut.

I don't want to have to wait until I run into him again to see him. In fact, I want to see him tomorrow, and the day after that. 

I want to call him and be on the phone for hours, but I don't know his last name to look up his number in the directory. I guess that's just more incentive to see him again. 

I head back to my truck, and for the first time in a while, I'm looking forward to something.


	7. Chapter 7

As I pull up to the garage, all the guys are giving me strange looks. My recent behavior has certainly warranted it; I should have expected them to think that I've finally cracked. I took a day off, and I never do. I always work, or want to work, not goof off around town with some Soc, driving around in his--gorgeous--car. Not that they know that, but anything I need to take a day off for apparently is a world-crushing predicament. 

They don't say a word to me as I clock in and get ready for the shift ahead of me. The room is filled with blank stares. I ignore them, and Hephaestus, my boss and Leo's dad, waves a trusty wrench and gives us a quip, telling us to get to work. 

I can feel the tension in the room. It's not a bad air, but it still feels weird, different. I try to lighten the mood, to rid the room of the strange air. 

"So, did you guys do anything cool yesterday?" I ask, disappearing beneath a car.

"The usual," Leo says. I can see his shoes from the angle I'm laying in. He seems to have a little hesitation before he asks: "How about you?"

I shrug, although he can't see it. "Nothing, really. I just hung out a bit."

I can hear the smugness in his tone. "Is it a girl?"

I almost hit my head on the undercarriage, not expecting the question. I slide out from beneath the car. 

"No," I say, calmly as not to give myself away. It might have been better for them to tease me about a girl than to tell them the truth. They might laugh in disbelief, but having a friend who has a different background than me isn't a bad thing. But, a Soc is a Soc, and maybe a few months ago, I would have dismissed the thought completely. If it were one of them, I definitely wouldn't know how to feel. 

"Why else would you take a day off?" Jason asks, not looking up at me while he tunes up an engine. "You live, eat, and shit work." 

I choose not to answer, shrugging my shoulders innocently before sliding back under the vehicle. Any answer would just bury me deeper. I'm not great at keeping my lies straight, and honesty is definitely not an option. 

The air never truly disappears for the rest of the shift, and it's approaching mid-afternoon when I clock out for the night. They cast me suspicious looks as I determinedly hop back into my truck and speed towards home. 

I made plans with Nico yesterday, and I don't plan on being late or breaking them. I take a quick shower, change into clean, casual clothes, slick and comb my hair back like usual, and I'm out the door. 

He told me to meet him at the bookstore downtown, and I didn't think it would be a waste of an evening. It wasn't bad to browse, even if I couldn't afford anything. It would be troublesome if the clerk accused me of stealing if I simply walked around the store with Nico, looking at things but not buying anything. It wouldn't be the first time that happened, although I haven't stolen anything since... I can't even remember. 

My engine sputters to life after the third try, and I head off to the bookstore, where Nico's car is waiting patiently in the parking lot for me. 

I smile against my volition and lock up my truck before heading inside.

I love the smell of the place. It smells of fresh paper, right off the presses, and a sort of freshness that never lingers in the air outside. I consider against lighting a cigarette once I see no one else is smoking. 

I find Nico around the fiction section, combing through several novels that he wouldn't have been if he knew anyone was looking. Romance books are just the amount of feminine that I would expect from him. They are probably a guilty pleasure of his. 

I hide behind the endless rows of books, waiting for him to leave the section to pretend that I just strolled in, mostly to avoid his self-consciousness. 

He gets all flustered when he's embarrassed, his blushes redder than I've seen anyone get. He is pale for a half-Italian, which probably is the cause. His behavior would be panicked and frazzled. Not that it's not cute. 

I almost hit myself for that fleeting thought, and he rounds the corner. He looks up from his trance. I quickly pretend I'm looking at whatever section of books I'm standing at. 

_Astronomy._ At least it's something I could get behind. 

He looks surprised to see me, despite that he was expecting me to come. 

"Hi," Nico says, approaching me casually. "I didn't see you come in."

I shrug, looking up from the books for a moment. "Sorry. I looked for you."

My answer was almost absentminded as my gaze returns to the books. He casts a curious glance over to the books I'm looking through.

"Astronomy? You like space?"

"Yeah, but who doesn't?"

Nico nods. With the whole space race between us and Russia, it seems that everyone's attention is directed to space. I'm not surprised they have such an extensive variety of books on it. 

Then, a particular book catches my eye. I slide it delicately from the shelf and flip through it. 

_Stargazing and Constellations._

My thoughts land back to when my parents were still alive, and my dad's best friend wasn't the bottle. They took me out to the vast fields past the outskirts of town, where the skies were free of light pollution and you could see nothing but endless stars, speckles of light gleaming in the darkness. They took my mind off everything, I guess. Mom and Dad would point out all the constellations they knew and the stories behind them. 

My mind back to reality, I look up at Nico. He isn't hovering over me, but he's watching me read with a certain look in his eyes and his lower lip captured by the edge of a perfectly white tooth. My gaze shifts up to him, hoping that it would apprise him of his staring. 

He shakes his head, a blush blossoming on his face. "Constellations?"

"Mhm." 

"You know stars?"

"Yeah. Some of them. Don't you?"

"Not really." 

"Why not?"

"I guess I haven't had the time."

I nod, reaching to place the book back on the shelf. Nico places a delicate hand on my wrist. 

"Don't you want it?"

I shrug. I don't want to explain my poverty to him--not that it's embarrassing, but better to remain unsaid. 

He gives me that look--defiant, determined, almost-cocky--and takes the book from my grip. He adds it to his growing pile of books in his arms. 

I think nothing of it until we get back to my truck, which is parked beside his car.

He leans in and talks to me through my rolled-down passenger seat window. "I would like you to show me the stars. If you'd like."

I smile. "Sure."

I start my engine, and he pulls out of the parking lot, a little too fast. I don't complain, until my eyes fall on the book sitting on my passenger seat. I furrow my eyebrows. I know he didn't mean it as an insult to my wealth--or lack, thereof--but he bought the damn thing for me. With his money. That asshole. 

I watch him drive down the road, seemingly unburdened. He probably is smiling smugly to himself, like he accomplished some great feat. It makes me feel frustrated, but in a good way. I hate feeling indebted.

I shake my head and pull out of the parking lot, heading for home. 

He wants to see the stars. I will show him some damn stars, even if it kills me.


	8. Chapter 8

The sun has far been gone by the time Nico climbs into the passenger seat of my beat-up, old truck.

I am still angry about the book, but as he casts me his usual smile and closes the door behind him, it floats to the back of my mind. 

We take off into the countryside and pull off into an empty field, away from prying eyes and the asphyxiation of life in the city. Being out here is like a breath of fresh air, relieving in a way nothing else can be. The overgrown grass reaches a little past my tires, and it feels like it just belongs here, still and quiet, sitting beneath a darkened sky filled with an ocean of stars. 

I pull the beer and blankets from the backseat--I'll pay Dakota back later--lower the tailgate, and help Nico into the bed of my truck. He nestles in a chrysalis of blankets, protecting him from the briskness of the night air. I quickly follow him, dragging the beer along with me. I join him beneath the blankets--which are warmer than I expect them to be--and offer him a beer. He accepts it.

"I'm not much of a beer person, but..." He pops off the cap and takes a swig. 

"You're only young once."

"Ugh. You sound like my dad."

I laugh and open a beer of my own. Through the bitter, robust taste of the beer, I'm pointing out the basic constellations that meet my eye first. 

The Big Dipper. The Little Dipper.

"See those three stars there?"

"Yeah."

"It kind of looks like a pot."

"Wait, no. Where?"

He points at the sky, and I take his wrist in my hand, directing his hand to where he could see it. He looks up at me with his big, brown eyes, and back at the sky. 

"Oh, I see it. I see that one all the time."

"Yeah, it's not hard to spot." 

"It's so much clearer out here, though. All of the stars are."

"Away from the city, away from the light pollution. Even the air seems clearer, here."

He nods, burrowing deeper into the blankets. He takes another beer.

"I've never noticed how quiet it is away from the city."

"Yeah. Haven't your parents taken you out here?"

"Not much. They don't have the time."

I almost feel bad for him, but at least he grew up in a decent neighborhood, free from the burdens of being crushed beneath society's heel. 

We're both a little tipsy, and he looks up at the moon.

"Do you think we'll ever live there?"

"Where?"

"On the moon."

"Maybe."

He smiles at the notion.

"We need to get someone up there, first, though," I add.

It seems so far away, yet it looks so close, a bright orb suspended in the night sky. It seems so fragile, as if a single, invisible thread was cut, it would plummet out of the sky and out of sight. If we could live on it, would looking back at Earth feel like you're looking up at the moon, or would it be even more beautiful?

Nico is looking at me expectantly, his eyes liquid with near-inebriation. 

I shake my head, losing my reverie, and resume where I left off. "Those stars up there are Hercules. The four stars that kind of look like a square."

I continue about the stars, and I look back at him, to see his eyes are on me, rather than on the sky. His dark hair is flattened beneath his head and the blanket beneath him.

"You're not watching." 

"Sorry." He directs his gaze back on the stars. 

I point out Scorpius, a somewhat-J-shaped one, and his eyes are back on me. 

He looks at me in a way I've never seen him look at me before, and it's like my insides have turned into ice. Jagged crystals that stab me no matter how subtle my movements are. 

"Nico?" I ask, my voice a breath against his cheeks.

My lips were cold, but then they weren't. They were warm, with Nico's lips pressing a deep kiss against them. 

I froze, my eyes widened in shock as his chilled fingers glide into my hair, stiff with product. He pulls me closer. 

It doesn't take him long to realize I'm not reciprocating his actions against my lips. He jerks back from me, almost as if he got burned, rescinding his fingers from their nest in my hair. 

His dark eyes are larger and rounder than I've ever seen them. He looks down at the space that just appeared between us. 

I can't move. It feels like I'm frozen in place, a million thoughts rushing through my mind. I half-notice Nico untangling his body from the blankets that formed a warm, soft shell around him and hopping down from the bed of my truck. I acknowledge his absence fully when he's sprinting through the field. 

If I wasn't completely sober before, I sure am now. I leap from my truck and follow him. He's probably embarrassed by his drunken actions. Damn, had he ever gotten drunk before? I know how difficult it is to control notions and actions when I've had a few. 

"Nico!" I shout after him, grass tickling my legs through my jeans. 

Fortunately, I'm a lot faster than he is, and I catch up with him in no time. 

He doesn't even glance back at me as I grip his wrist to stop his running. He does stop, his entire body tensing at my touch. 

He looks down, his face obscured by his dark hair falling over his forehead. He's shaking, and at first I'm convinced it's from the cold by how chilled his skin was. 

He avoids glancing at me at all costs, and instead of struggling, he gives up. His wrist releases its tension, growing limp in my hand. I look past the curtain of his hair, and the moonlight catches on the tears streaming down his cheeks. 

"Please don't hurt me," he says through his sobs, his body convulsing with the power of them. 

I freeze once again, realization coursing through me. 

It wasn't just a drunken mistake. He kissed me, on purpose.

He wasn't good at talking to girls because he wasn't looking for them. He was looking for boys. He was looking for me.

My grip loosened on him, and he fell into the grass, convulsing with broken, violent sobs. 

I kneel beside him and place a hand on his shoulder. He flinches at my touch, but I don't take it away. I wait for his sobs to subside and gently return my grip on his wrist. 

"C'mon, Nico," I say, helping him from the ground. "I'm gonna drive you home, okay?"

He remained silent, but he acquiesced to my gestures. We walk back to the truck in the same silence, and he hops in the passenger seat, looking eager to get home and as far away from me as he possibly can. 

The ride home is morosely silent. I tap at my steering wheel, occasionally glancing over at the boy in my passenger seat. His head is leaning against the window, even as the truck travels over bumps and through small potholes. I feel useless, as if there isn't a thing I can do to mitigate the situation. I try anyway. 

"So... That's why you're not too good with girls, huh?"

He remains in his standoffish state, not even glancing over at me. It's like I haven't spoken a word. 

I allow the excruciating silence to continue, even as I pull into his neighborhood. I can see his house at the end of the street.

I try again: "You know, you probably should be careful trying that with other guys. You might not get such a... friendly reaction." 

It's like I'm not even sitting next to him. It hurts a little, but it probably isn't near what he's feeling. I can't imagine hiding something like that from _everyone_. I wouldn't be able to bear such a burden. 

I pull to a stop in front of his house. Even in the darkness, its visibility due to only a pair of porch lights, it still looks amicable.

He sighs--the only sound I've been able to get out of him the whole ride here--and opens the door. He closes it defeatedly behind him. 

He spares me a glance then, but it looks wounded. I cast him my usual smile, anyway, and wave. 

"See you around."

He stalks up to his driveway and disappears through his front door. I don't know how I could ameliorate the situation. I hate seeing him so upset, whether he is queer or not. He's one of the best friends I've ever had. 

A window on the bottom floor of the house lights up, and I smile slightly. 

I still feel the warm pressure on my lips. The thing about kisses is I know when I like them. And I sure liked that one. Despite my shock, my stomach still fluttered. My eyes wanted to close. I wanted to pull him closer, my fingers caught in his dark hair. 

He's a boy and a Soc, but... I don't know how to feel about the yearning ache in my gut, or my sudden inclinations to make everything around him better. To make sure he's okay.

As I pull out from the curb, I know that our meeting tonight isn't the last I'll see of him. I'll make sure of it.


	9. Chapter 9

The moment I get home--after taking several detours to evaluate my thoughts--I dig through my drawers to find the most recent phonebook that I own. It was the '61 directory, but I hope I can still find his number.

_di Angelo._ His last name is di Angelo.

There are two di Angelos in our county, so I use the process of trial-and-error to find it.

I call the first one. A woman picks up on the third ring.

"Hello?"

"Hello. Is Nico there?"

She holds a bit of hesitation, and I immediately think I've got the wrong number.

"Yes, but he's not in very good spirits right now. Who are you?"

"I'm Percy. I'm his friend."

"From school?"

"I suppose."

She takes the phone away and calls for Nico. I am relieved as I hear the phone being transferred over.

Nico's voice is sullen and sad when he answers, "Hello?"

"Hey."

I can feel him tense over the phone. I am convinced he's going to hang up, but he stays on the line.

"Hi."

"Are you doing okay?"

"I... I guess. Can we not talk about...?"

"Okay. Okay. What do you want to talk about?"

His voice lightens up a little, and a surge of happiness courses through me. "How about life? What do you want to do?"

"I really don't know. I'm a mechanic, now. I just want to get out of this town sometime in my life."

"Me too."

"You're a mechanic?" I joke.

"No," he laughs. "I work at the law firm with my dad."

"You're a lawyer?"

"No, just an intern-of-sorts."

"Ah. The good-ol'-coffee-fetcher."

He laughs, his sadness all but gone. "Yes, that's a good way of putting it."

I wish I could see his expression. 

"Hey, do you think you could stop by the bar, the one downtown?

"Which one?"

"Murphy's, I suppose."

"Ok. What's the occasion?"

"Does there have to be an occasion for me to hang out with you?"

"No. But what are we going to do?"

"Have you ever played pool?"

"No."

"I'll teach you."

"Okay." I can hear him smiling. "Okay. When?"

"Tomorrow at four okay?"

"Yes. It's perfect."

"Okay, see you then."

"Bye, Percy."

"Bye."

The line went dead, but I was happy, energetic. I wanted to run around the apartment a few times, but I remain on my couch, facing a tv that no longer works. I can't wait to see him again. Whether it be stargazing or just shooting pool with him at Murphy's, I want to be near him. I don't remember when I became so sentimental, but it's a worthy distraction from everything else.

I'm breaking my rules. I'm spending more time with him than I should. I'm going to end up struggling just to get by, again, but I can't bring myself to care about anything else but the plans for tomorrow.

Although the last thing I am able to do is sleep, I turn off the light and climb into bed, which is just a lumpy old mattress on the floor. I run a hand through my hair and stare at the ceiling for what seems like hours.

What the hell am I doing?

■□■□■

Murphy's is a small hole in the wall in the middle of the turfs and one of the only bars in the area who caters to Greasers. It's a nicer place, kind of like a diner, and when I walk through the door, I'm not surprised to see Dakota, Beckendorf, and Ethan, shooting a round of pool. It's only around 2, so I join them for a bit and listen to what's going on in their lives.

Dakota is telling some story that I'm only half-listening to. "So, this girl is just looking at me, right? Y'know, with her arms crossed and that sour face that my old lady used to give me. I ask her what's the problem, and she freaks out at me. I don't even know what I did. It was like I robbed a bank right in front of her. So, she dumps me and leaves with some other guy at the party." 

"I would have just left, man," Beckendorf tells him calmly while aiming his cue at the cue ball. 

I never really play with them, mainly because I always win, but I think they make it that way on purpose. I don't really care for sympathy, especially when it makes things boring. I especially don't like being treated like a kid, but if I said anything they'd make it look like I was imagining things. 

"Percy, where ya been?" Beckendorf asks me. "It seems like forever since we hung out." 

"Yeah, I guess." I say. "Work and stuff can be a bitch." 

"Leo told me you got a girl on the side," Dakota teases me. "What's her name?"

I shake my head. I knew this was gonna come back and bite me in the ass. "I don't got a girl." 

"Then why'd you take off work?" Ethan asks me, a snide grin on his face. "The only reason you'd take off work is if you're dying or severely injured." 

"Just... Things came up."

"With what?" they ask.

"I..." I pause as I see Nico stroll in through the door and look around. Then, he catches sight of me and waves. 

"You know this guy?" Dakota asks, eyeing him up and down. 

I need to get Nico some different clothes that don't scream, "Hey everybody! I'm a Soc!" 

I shrug, trying to get off with a semi-lie.

"Percy, hi," Nico greets me, and I can't deny it anymore. 

I give my most innocent smile although I know I'm caught, before approaching Nico and pulling him aside.

"What's wrong?" 

"I haven't told my friends about you, yet." 

"So why don't you introduce me?" he asks optimistically before starting to walk off. 

I grab him by the arm again and pull him back. 

"Because they'll think I brought you here to jump you."

His eyes briefly hold horror. "Did you?"

"No, I wanted to hang out with you." 

"Then why are they here if you didn't want to introduce me?"

"I can't control where they go. They got here before I did."

When I return to the pool table, they aren't here, anymore. At least it buys me some time to think of a worthy explanation to why a Soc greeted me so casually. 

I go back around the corner and retrieve him before heading to the bar. The smells of bar food and beer are really beginning to entice me.

We order some fries, Nico a Shirley Temple. Honestly, I have no idea how I didn't realize he was into guys. Now, it seems so plain to me.

As we wait for our food, we pay for a game of pool and I teach him how to hold a pool cue. 

"Okay, so you see how the balls are different? One of them's mine, one of them's yours. You use this white ball to hit your balls into the holes in the corners. See them?"

Nico nods and tries to hold the cue the way I showed him. 

He must be doing something weird with his elbows because he isn't hitting them very far, but after I step in and show him how I did it, he starts doing better. 

We eat and resume our game. 

When it's his turn, he looks at his cue unsurely.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

"I forgot how to hold it," he tells me, his eyes averting to the pool table in embarrassment.

I sigh and make my way behind him. I position his arms and his hands the usual way: one on top, the other gripping the handle. I look to his face, which is redder than I've seen anyone else's get. My attention focuses on our proximity. My hands are gripping his, and my chest is pressed flush to his back. His ass is all but up in my crotch area. While, to me, it was a reflex to teach people that way, it must have come off as an advance, especially since he kissed me last night. 

I freeze, and he suddenly looks ashamed, his muscles tensing within my grip.

Instead of every shout in my brain telling me to pull away, I don't revert my gaze from his eyes and I place my hand on his hip. There's some sort of invisible pull, kind of like the pull of a magnet, and I want to get even closer to him. 

"Percy?" he asks, his voice tremulous, but not with fear.

It effectively breaks my trance, and the people around us are suddenly brought to my attention. While I doubt any of them were looking at us, the anxiety still prickles in my chest.

"I-- I'll be right back." I pull away and head to the bathroom. While usually leaving suddenly would be a hint to the fact that I need some space to think my recent actions over, Nico enters promptly behind me.

All I can blame it on is my hormones driving me crazy. I haven't gotten laid in a while, so that must have been the reason I was looking at him like that. Why I wanted to touch him. 

I wash my face off in the sink, Nico's presence prominent behind me.

"Percy? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." 

Despite my blatant answer, he places a hand on my back, just above my left shoulder blade, as I lean over the sink, our reflections glaring back at me through the mirror. His touch, intense and almost smoldering, is what breaks the chains restraining me. It's the last thing I can remember before I bring his back to the wall and smash our faces together. 

He freezes against me for just a second before melting into the kiss. I'm not sure if it's innocent enough to call it a kiss. It's more like a rumble, if anything, as we're fighting against each other, gasping into our mouths and sharing our enthusiasm. And, for the first time while kissing someone, it feels like I am in a rumble. My heart is pounding, my breath fighting to escape me, adrenaline coursing through my veins. With his hands in my hair, there is no doubt that I could possibly get any closer to him. Yet, I still want to try.

We pull away, gasping for breath before he looks up at me with that wild look in his eyes. I take one glance at him and I lose myself again. I lift him from the floor and carry him into a stall. I frantically reach to lower the clasp and lock the door, all the while shoving my tongue down his throat and trying not to focus on how amazing it feels for his thighs to be wrapped around my hips.

I can hear his ragged breaths, but we're both too desperate too pull away. It feels like freedom, as I've been denying myself of it for so long that if I went any longer, I would have exploded. 

His hands move from gripping my hair just a tad too tightly to grasp at my T-shirt, and my mind goes blank. 

All I can feel is his warmth against me, his tongue in my mouth. Then, my arms are too tired of holding him up, as they release him and he drops gently to the floor, tearing his lips from mine. We take this opportunity to catch our breaths, his lips swollen, eyes cloudy, and pupils blown. I wonder if I look the same way, caught in a daze from the intensity I experienced. 

My hands find his lower back, anyway, and he looks at me with those gentle eyes of his. 

We look at each other in silent awe for a moment before he smiles, and it's all I can do not to kiss him again. 

We adjust our clothes and smooth down our messed up hair before rejoining society. We finish up our game of pool--I win, but that goes without saying since I had to teach him how to hold the cue multiple times--and linger in the parking lot for just a bit longer. I consider inviting him back to my apartment so we can fool around a bit more, but I decide against it. It's not because of my rule--after all, it's a No Girls rule; it doesn't say a thing about boys--but because I spent actual time with him not having our tongues down each other's throats, which is more than I can say for other relationships I've had. 

Is this a relationship? Is this a date? I'm not sure, but whatever it is, I know I don't want it to end anytime soon.


End file.
